


Where We Will Thrive

by Imaginary_Bomb



Series: Yuo & Dorian [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: (did not expect that to be a tag), Bathing/Washing, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, POV Dorian Pavus, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-07-01 03:42:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15765888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imaginary_Bomb/pseuds/Imaginary_Bomb
Summary: After a rough fight, Lavellan takes the party to a river to clean up and relax. Dorian has never bathed in a river before. It's not as bad as he was expecting.- - - - - -Occurs any time after chapter six of The Time Has Come and before reaching Skyhold; can stand alone.Edits 6/9/19





	Where We Will Thrive

**Author's Note:**

> many thanks to my beta [A_Lesbian_With_Pink_Hair](https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Lesbian_With_Pink_Hair/pseuds/A_Lesbian_With_Pink_Hair)
> 
> title from the in-game song "Enchanters"

They left their last fight—consisting of twelve bandits and three bears—rather worse for wear. Blackwall and Lavellan were bruised, battered, and drenched in blood. Sera had slipped and fallen in Maker knew what. Dorian… well, Dorian was just going to have to burn these robes.

They were trudging back to camp when Sera spotted a river. “Oy, don’t know ‘bout you lot, but I’m making use of that.”

Lavellan’s ears actually perked up. “Fucking thank Sylaise.”

Blackwall rumbled, “It would be nice to get some of this mess off.”

And like that, their course was changed.

“Wait.” Surely they weren’t implying what Dorian thought they were. “Are you suggesting we _bathe_ in the _river_?”

“Not so much a suggestion as a statement of fact,” Lavellan replied, already loosening the ties on his armor.

“Too good for rivers, ponce?” Sera said.

“This isn’t some southerner trick you’re playing on the poor Vint?”

Lavellan quirked a brow at him. “What do you have against rivers?”

“It’s _unsanitary_.”

“More unsanitary than whatever you’re covered in?” Blackwall asked.

Well. Point to the Warden.

Before Dorian knew it, they reached the river. The elves of the party immediately began tossing their armor aside. Blackwall seemed to hesitate, although not for the reason Dorian was hoping.

“Perhaps we ought to, ah, take different sections? With a lady in the group…”

Sera blew a raspberry at him and stripped off her shirt.

“I don’t think it would be a good idea for us to split up right now,” Lavellan said.

“Well, if no one else is bothered.”

And so Dorian was left the only one not shucking off his clothes.

Sera was the first done. Down to her smalls, she splashed in, sinking gratefully into the water with a sigh. Blackwall was only down to his undershirt, taking the time to wipe off his armor and neatly stack it.

“Are you really not getting in?”

Dorian turned to tell Lavellan that he would not bathe in a river like a _barbarian,_ but the words died in his throat. Lavellan had finished with his armor and robes and was down to his breeches. Dorian realized he had never seen Lavellan in a state of undress.

“Maker’s breath.”

Lavellan chuckled, a rumble from deep in his chest. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Pavus.”

“That’s not…”

Planes of pale skin, bruises purpling over sharp angles of defined muscle. A spattering of freckles across broad shoulders. A looping design in gray on his lower back, a continuation of his facial tattoos. And scars, crisscrossed down the length of his arms and over his back.

“Your scars.”

Lavellan, undoing his braid, looked at him, coy, over his shoulder. “What about them?”

“There are a lot.”

Another chuckle. “And you said you weren’t flattering me.”

“Should you have that many scars?”

“Battle mage.”

“Even so.”

Lavellan rolled his eyes and turned to face Dorian, hands on his hips. Dorian’s eyes caught the wispy thatch of hair in the middle of his chest, trailing down a firm set of abs, thickening just before the edge of his breeches.

Dorian swallowed. “Uh.” He forced his eyes to Lavellan’s face. “We’re just going to put our filthy clothes back on.”

He shrugged, sunlight playing over the flex of his muscles. Freckles and scars decorated his skin; dirt, blood, and sweat smeared everywhere. A bruise was beginning to bloom along his jaw. _That should not be so attractive_ , Dorian thought.

“It’s better than nothing,” Lavellan said, “at least until we reach camp.” Then he hooked his thumbs on the waist of his breeches.

Dorian spun around, grasping at the ties of his robes. “Well, if you insist,” he said, before the words even registered in his brain.

Lavellan laughed, free and unrestrained, like a wild bird taking flight. “Of course, by the time you get undressed, we’ll all be dry.”

Dorian’s fingers slipped on his clasps. “Oh, har har,” he mumbled, trying to ignore the sounds of rustling and splashing.

As he undressed, he hung his clothes carefully on a tree branch. He may burn them later, but they were still _expensive_ and not to be dropped on the ground. He hesitated at his smalls. They were silk and not likely to react well to river water. But. He had been to the sprawling public baths of Minrathous and was by no means a prude. Yet.

Dorian sighed and resigned himself to a ruined pair of smalls to go with his ruined robes.

He paused at the edge of the water. Blackwall was marinating in the shallows, leaning against a log. Sera was splashing around in the depths, doing… Sera things. Lavellan was nowhere to be seen.

The water was cold. Of course it was. But he was beginning to feel the itch of filth on his skin and the water looked clear, at least. Sucking in a breath, he steeled himself and forced his way in.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck_.”

When the water was to his chest, he took a gulp of air and plunged under.

It was fucking cold.

When he surfaced, another wave of water hit him in the face, leaving him coughing and spluttering. Slicking his hair out of his eyes, he found Sera sitting on a rock, cackling at him. “Looks like you got in, huh?”

“Well, when in Fereldan…” he sighed. “It helps that I can’t feel any part of my body.”

She grimaced. “Ugh, you’re so _fussy_.” She jumped back in the water, splashing Dorian in the face again, and swam off.

Dorian wandered into shallower waters to perch on a rock and scrub at his arms.

“Do you need soap?”

The sound Dorian made was not a shriek, and he would deny any claims otherwise.

He turned to find Lavellan grinning widely at him. “Did I scare you?”

“And you look far too pleased by that prospect.”

Lavellan truly had a terrifying smile. Dorian did not envy his enemies.

He held up a plain lumpy bar of something vaguely brown. “Soap?”

“You expect me to put that on my skin?”

Ah, there was the disdainful eyebrow Dorian was so familiar with. “It’s soap, Dorian. A Dalish recipe.”

“I have my own soap.”

“The stuff that makes you smell like roses?” Blackwall said from his recline against his log.

“It’s _jasmine_ ,” Dorian scoffed.

“Oh, my mistake.”

Dorian turned to Lavellan. “Stop laughing.”

He did not.

“You’re so _prissy_ ,” Sera declared, standing over him now, hands on her hips. “Here, I’m not too good for your elfy soap.”

“Well, _that’s_ a surprise,” Lavellan said.

“You givin’ it or not?”

“Sure, sure. Need help with your back? I’ll even sing you a lively Dalish tune.”

“Do that, I put an arrow in your eye.”

Lavellan had such a nice laugh. Robust. It was a shame he only really used it around Sera and Bull. But then, he was always in a good mood after a fight.

Dorian scrambled up the bank to his small pack. After getting used to it, it felt colder out of the river. Soap in hand, he hurried back to the water. It wasn’t the right soap for his hair, but it would give him some respite. He would change clothes at camp.

Sera was scrubbing Lavellan’s soap through Blackwall’s hair while Lavellan floated around. As Dorian lathered his soap over his skin, Lavellan moved slowly closer and closer to him. Dorian tried to ignore to curl of anticipation in his gut. With only his head above water, Lavellan’s hair twisted in the current like lazy snakes. Dorian rather felt like a mouse under that piercing gaze.

“Need help with your back?” There was a definite ulterior motive there that had not been in his offer to Sera.

“If you want,” Dorian said, when he could work his tongue again.

Lavellan took the soap from his hand and moved behind him. Dorian urged himself to breathe. Lavellan’s hands were gentle, calloused fingers running slickly over the curves of his back. Dorian could feel warm breath against his neck and prayed the cold water was keeping things below his waist under control.

“I don’t think your soap is prissy,” Lavellan said.

“Oh?” Words were foreign to him, so attuned he was to Lavellan’s presence.

Lavellan’s hands splayed over his shoulders, heat radiating off his body as he leaned close. His breath ghosted against Dorian’s ear. “I think it suits you. I always know where you are in a fight.”

A shudder worked up Dorian’s spine. He felt Lavellan’s chuckle reverberate through him. His eyes turned to their companions. Sera sat on the bank, hair a wild tangle, fiddling with the string of her bow. Blackwall had moved into deeper waters, soaking like tusket. Neither was paying them any attention.

Cold air greeted his back, and he realized Lavellan had moved away. “Mind if I use your soap for my hair?”

“It’s not really—really meant for hair.”

Lavellan snorted. “It’s fine. It smells good.”

Dorian turned to watch as Lavellan lathered the soap in his hands, gave a few perfunctory scrubs to the shaved sides of his head, then worked his fingers through the longer tresses. His hair gleamed in the sun, glowing like a hot ember. He hummed under his breath, a lilting, swooping melody. Dalish, presumably.

When the filth and grime of battle had been cleaned from their skin, they settled on the grassy bank to dry in the sun. Lavellan brandished a comb from his pack and passed it around. Sera watched intently as Blackwall worked on his beard, then grumbled and moaned about the knots in her own hair until Lavellan reached over to help her. Dorian didn’t have his creams for styling, so he simply combed his hair and left it to dry. Lavellan took the longest to untangle his hair, then carefully plaited it into a tight, neat braid.

They dressed and began their trek back to camp.

“So,” Lavellan said, nudging Dorian with his elbow, “how was your first river bath?”

Dorian looked at him askance, the playful curl of a smile, laugh lines crinkled around his eyes. “I might be persuaded to do it again.”

Lavellan laughed.

**Author's Note:**

> [yuo](https://merrybandofmurderers.tumblr.com/post/185478905070/updated-pics-of-yuo-hethey-pronouns-37-62) is a battle mage becuz this is fanfiction and i say so. and i know that dolphin smooth elves are some ppl's kink but this is my fic and yuo has facial/body hair and bioware can eat my ass
> 
> also i did once actually fight twelve bandits and three bears. it was not a good time


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